Life Alert
by Amity Bell
Summary: In which Mike has an altercation with the floor.


**Life Alert**

**by Amity Bell**

Harvey drummed his fingers against his desk irritably.

Mike was late. _Very_ late.

He sighed and grabbed his cell phone, then addressed the intercom as he scrolled through his contacts.

"Donna, if you see Mike before I find him, tell the little shit his ass is grass."

"With pleasure," she said, throwing him a flirtatious glance over one shoulder. His mouth quirked with amusement as he brought the phone up to his ear, already dialing. It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Donna turned her chair completely around, staring at him with open curiosity. Harvey stared back, rising ire easily apparent.

"He's really not picking up? I didn't think the kid had it in him," she said, raising one delicate eyebrow with interest. When Mike's voicemail picked up Harvey glared and pulled the phone from his ear to hit redial. Again, no answer. A tinge of worry crept in and Harvey hit redial again. It wasn't like Mike not to answer when it was Harvey calling; even when he'd done something wrong he still kept in close contact with Harvey. He cut off the call abruptly and slipped the phone into an inside pocket as he stood and left his office.

Without being asked, Donna picked up her phone and called Ray to pick him up. He thoughtfully tapped a finger against her desk for a moment, trying to decide the best way to reward her for not making him say anything. She'd known from the very beginning the direction Mike and Harvey's relationship was headed, and though she loved to tease, she knew him well enough to know when to leave well enough alone.

"Buy yourself lunch, I don't care where. Use my card."

She winked, brought her hand down sharply to point at him with fingers shaped like a gun, and clicked her tongue. He rolled his eyes and walked off, omnipresent smirk once again curling his lips. By the time he'd made it downstairs and bought coffee from his preferred street vendor, Ray had arrived and was waiting patiently at the curb. Ray opened the door and accepted the CD Harvey had prepared in anticipation for the ride to his client meeting later in the day. Taking his cue to remain silent from Harvey's taciturn mood, he carefully shut the door behind Harvey and quickly moved around to the driver's side.

The soothing familiarity of the jazz and Ray's smooth driving were the only things that kept the ride from being interminable. Harvey occasionally toyed with his phone, though he knew that calling again wouldn't help. Mike was a light enough sleeper that the earlier calls would have woken him up; if he was going to answer or call back, he'd have done so by this point. By the time the town car pulled smoothly into park, the irritation far outweighed the worry on the Harvey scale.

"Wait here," he ordered Ray, meeting his eyes in the rear view mirror. Ray simply nodded and turned the music up, content to wait as long as necessary.

Harvey truly hated Mike's apartment building. From its decrepit Irish flag to the A/C units hanging out of windows, it offended his very being. Mike liked it and refused to move – he said it had "character." A good single malt scotch had "character." A fine American car had "character." This run-down, vermin-ridden antique did not. Pushing down his dislike, he entered the building and climbed the stairs up to Mike's floor. Yet another reason he hated this place: no elevator.

Once face-to-face with Mike's atrocious brown and green door, he knocked. When he didn't receive a prompt response, he pulled out his key ring and opened the door. One of the first things he'd made Mike do when they started this (as yet unnamed) thing was make him a key. Mike had had the gall to mention that the last time he gave out a key to his apartment (to Trevor, of course) it hadn't ended so well. Harvey had pointedly reminded Mike who, exactly, had gotten Mike and Trevor out of that mess, and shortly after the new key was firmly ensconced in its' new home.

Harvey noticed Mike's bike hanging in its spot on the wall as he pushed the door wide, peering around the interior warily. His associate was nowhere to be seen. He closed the door behind him and moved immediately to check the cubbyhole of a room that housed Mike's bed. Not there. He turned and saw the bathroom door ajar, light on.

"Mike?" he called, striding over quickly to throw the door wide.

Mike tilted his head back to look up at him from where he was lying sprawled on the tile floor. A wide grin split his face.

"Harvey!" he cried merrily. Harvey took in the ridiculous sight of his – whatever – naked as the day he was born and sporting a goose-egg over one eye. Mike winced at the volume of his own voice.

"Mike," Harvey said, drawing out the name. "What are you doing on the floor?"

Mike flung an arm towards Harvey, eyes sleepy and amused.

"Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" he murmured, apparently with it enough not to repeat his mistake of raising his voice.

Harvey stared, incredulous, then rubbed his forehead with thumb and forefinger.

"So I see," he sighed. He pulled a towel off the rack and went to kneel next to Mike.

"Did you hurt anything besides your head when you fell?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. He threw the towel over Mike's hips and began prodding him anywhere he could reach. Mike hissed and grabbed his wrist when he put light pressure on his right hip. Harvey got to his feet, shaking his head and smiling exasperatedly.

"What are you, a geriatric? I think you hurt your hip." Mike stared up at him crossly, hand now hovering above the sore spot on his hip. "Apparently 'help I've fallen and I can't get up' was more apt than you thought."

"Hey! Shut it," Mike huffed, turning his head away. Harvey left the crabby man where he was to hunt down a bathrobe and call an ambulance. With the ambulance on its way and robe in hand, Harvey moved back into the bathroom. Mike had his eyes closed now, and his brow was creased with pain. Harvey placed the robe over him to keep him warm, and was reassured by his eyes slitting open with a grateful smile.

"The ambulance should be here soon. How long have you been laying here?" he asked, and Mike shrugged.

"Dunno. What time is it?" Harvey checked his watch.

"11:15," he said, and Mike squinted thoughtfully.

"Since 6:30? I think." He looked at Harvey with a pout. "I was going to be on time this morning, too."

Harvey chuckled and reached a gentle hand to smooth Mike's hair.

"I think it can be excused, just this once," he said warmly, and Mike sleepily hummed an agreement. He pulled out his phone to make his calls to Ray and Donna as he kept up the petting. It soothed him probably more than it soothed Mike; even though Mike was undeniably hurt, Harvey was very glad to find him alive and conscious.

* * *

><p>Three months, one surgery, several screws, one plate, and countless physical therapy sessions later, Mike was ready to return to work. Harvey had been almost unlivable in the days after the surgery, his worry for Mike superseding all other concerns. The idea of the injury being bad enough to warrant going under the knife had blindsided him, since Mike had been nearly unaffected by the break. The doctor had assured them that this type of break often wasn't painful for a while after it was incurred, and that the surgery itself would help alleviate much of the initial pain from the break itself. Once Mike's recovery had proven him right, Harvey's focus had shifted, though rehab had proven to be a bitch and a half.<p>

Harvey had leaped on the chance to force Mike out of his apartment and into a better one once they found out Mike wouldn't be able to handle stairs, and after finally caving, Mike had to admit the new one was growing on him. Not that he'd seen much of it, having spent most of his time recuperating at Harvey's place; Harvey had hired an in-home nurse to care for him while he was away at work.

Even though everything had gone almost perfectly to plan, the past few months had been grueling and had greatly strained their relationship. Recovering from a broken hip was just as hard as they made it out to be, and Mike strongly hoped that his Grammy wouldn't ever have to deal with one. Now that he was fairly well recovered, she got a real kick out of the idea that it was her grandson and not her that broke his hip first.

The cab pulled up in front of Pearson & Hardman and Mike paid the driver before easing out of the car. He stared up the length of the formidable building, the welcome sight conversely inspiring nerves and comfort. He squared his shoulders and made his way across the pavement, glad that the limp he still retained was small and almost unnoticeable.

He smiled as he passed the security desk and rode the elevator to the correct floor. Passing into the marble entryway made him feel almost as though the last few months hadn't happened, especially as he watched the unending bustle of employees. Mike shifted the bag over his shoulder and aimed for the cubicle farm. Rachel ran into him on her way through the break room and broke out in a large grin, moving forward quickly to grip his elbow.

"Mike! You're back!" Her eyes darted down to his hip and he grinned as he hopped up and down in place to show off.

"It really is better," Rachel continued. She looked back up at him and her eyes softened.

"I'm glad," she said, grin softening into something kinder. Mike nodded jerkily and cleared his throat.

"Yeah, it's good to be back."

She smothered a smirk, eyes dancing, and Mike stepped back warily. He knew better than to trust an expression like that by now. Rachel leaned forward conspiratorially and cupped a hand around her mouth.

"I hear you've been staying with Harvey," she stage-whispered, and Mike's jaw dropped.

"What?" he sputtered. "Who told you that?" He shot a hunted glance towards the associates, and sure enough, Gregory was eying him with devious speculation. She patted his arm and walked off.

"Good luck!"

Mike fake-laughed and walked to his desk, filled with trepidation. Surprisingly, Gregory left him alone. At least it was surprising until Mike caught sight of an incriminating package sitting on his desk. He slowly pulled out his chair and sat down, gripping his hip. It still gave him some trouble when he bent it too far, but that would ease with time.

There was no tag on the package to indicate who'd left it, and a quick glance around the room didn't reveal any more clues. He picked up a pen and poked at it, squeezing his eyes shut as he braced for an explosion. When nothing happened, he cracked open one eye to make sure it wasn't a fluke, then opened the other. Flabbergasted, he pulled the top off the heart-shaped box and peeked inside. It was a...what the hell?

He pulled the small device and its lanyard from the box and flipped it back and forth. A memory slowly surfaced and he groaned in recognition. Another look inside the box revealed a note, and Mike pulled it out resignedly to read it.

_I'm sure you watch enough late night TV to have realized your mistake by now._

_You damn well better wear it; I am not going through an ordeal like this again._

_P.S. Happy Valentine's Day._

It was signed with an obnoxiously large heart. Mike let his forehead fall to his desk and groaned, Harvey's laughter echoing in his thoughts.

The man was evil.

Edited by the lovely and talented phreakycat! Seriously, she's awesome, look her up.


End file.
